


Beneath the starlit sky

by Serpentina1



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentina1/pseuds/Serpentina1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was neither tall nor exceptionally graceful as the women of his kind. Her hair was not shiny but a common sandy-rohirim-colour and her ears were not pointed at all. It was a human; capturing his entire heart and being, her mere precense soothing and enthralling him all the same…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the deepest darkness of despair

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations written by J.R.R. Tolkien. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made. The plot of this fiction is all mine, though.

**Beneath the starlit sky**

**Prologue**

With an expression of love and adore Eowyn contemplated her little boy as he slept in the cradle. Despite those pointed, perfectly shaped Elven ears, resting against the sheets he knew nothing about his uniqueness. Peacefully he slept, not knowing how peculiar and entirely special he was. Not only in her eyes, but according to everything the world of Elves and Men alike had known in a long – a very long – time. He was precious – entirely precious – taking her breath away…

She had been surprised how quick, how – unexpectedly – she had conceived. In fact, she did as soon as she had given in to the overwhelming desire to lie with the one she truly loved. With him… She smiled at how dear, how incredible, entirely precious their little baby boy was to her. How very much he resembled his father. The beauty of his features was taking her very breath away.

It had been anything but planned to have this baby right away, with Sauron still high and mighty, perfectly strong and in charge of any life around Middle Earth. It had not been wise at all. And yet it had not been less welcome… They had been over the moon to realise!

_"Meleth nín?"_ The tall, slender and graceful shadow of her husband was outlined against the wall as he encircled her from behind, placing both of his hands around her – once again – swollen midriff. "I have been wondering what kept you up, Sweetheart" he murmured, nuzzling his face into the golden tresses of her hair so he could plant a kiss at the crown of her head as he spoke.

"Got caught up in the moment," she admitted, dreamily. "I…Oh,H-" Just that instant the little one in her womb decided to kick her in the ribs with the force of an Oliphant. "Ouch…" she gasped, laughing; flinging her fingers around her husband's to feel the wondrous presence of their child growing within her…

 

**Chapter 1** _\- From the deepest darkness of despair-_

_Elladan_

The long legs outstretched and crossed at his ankles, Elladan sat with his back against the mighty trunk of a beech tree, struggling against the feeling of drowsiness. Everything around was dripping wet with the merciless chill of a cold January rain that had dribbled down from a grey, clouded sky the entire morning.

Even the ground beneath him was cold. The earth was moist and chilly as was the entire air surrounding them. He could not have cared less. In fact, he was too tired, too exhausted to care at all.

After a few bits of Lembas bread and some water from the nearby river, it was about time to move along now and yet, he did not want to. Not right away at least.

Lazily he watched his brother crossing the short distance towards the river, glad not to be the one to gather up their horses this time.

Even Elven horses as theirs' did need some rest, needed to be allowed to nourish themselves with some weed and water after all. They did rest a couple of minutes a day and allowed themselves to sleep during the darkest hours of night, but it was quite a torture of a journey, still.

They were all very tired.

A few feet away their father, who was likewise seated with his back against a trunk, was refolding the letter he had read and reread countless times since the falcon had delivered it at Rivendell the week before.

The letter that had caused their quick, though not rushed departure from Rivendell when the twins had only arrived home two days earlier, returning from the north where they had been chasing Orcs once again.

It was a mere coincidence that they were accompanying their father towards the Gate of Rohan, or to Helms Deep to be more precise.

And it was only due to Arwen and her peculiar choice to share the fate of a mortal that their father had decided to send some Elves to fight along the Rohirim, they were convinced of that.

So now that the commander of these Elves was gravely wounded, the Lord of Rivendell had hardly any choice but to follow Aragorn's request to come and take part in their struggling to save him – as well as a couple of others, probably.

Therefore they were currently heading for Rohan to hopefully save Haldir from whatever dreadful wounds he had received at Helms Deep.

Helms Deep, where one of the biggest battles against Orcs and Uruk-hai of their age had been fought and decided only a fortnight before – which was quite frustrating in itself.

They would have preferred to fight along the Rohirim in that battle if they had only known about it - be it just to rid Middle Earth of some more of those dreadful creatures called Orcs.

Besides that they still believed in the old alliances between Elves and Men. While their father was convinced it was about time for Men to handle their own affairs, finally, the twins did not agree with him in that point, entirely.

Neither Elrohir nor Elladan himself had made their choices yet, although it became more and more unlikely they might choose mortality with every day to pass. Lots of Elves had already sailed by now and more did prepare to do so, daily.

The age of Men was to begin, they said.

Maybe they were right. Maybe it was about time to finally decide.

On his gloomier days, of which he was to face many these past few decades, Elladan found himself desperate for the soft and insightful advice of the one person who used to understand him most but was now lost and gone…Gone to never, ever return…Gone by her own free will as it seemed - and yet forced to decide that way because of the cruelty and barbarity of creatures too vile to be left alive.

The first shock of what had happened to his beloved mother and the grief about the decision it had caused her to make as well as the raging fury that had captured him during the first couple of centuries did pass by now to give room to a feeling to be able to possibly grand her finding peace through the mere force of his willpower if he only managed to kill as many Orcs as possible. And he had dwelled on that illusion – for centuries once again.

Maybe it was time to move along indeed. Not only on this journey, but within the journey of his life. He just could gather up neither the courage, nor the strength to do so.

He was afraid to sail as much as he was afraid to choose. Choosing the Elven part of his inheritance might grand him an eternity of grief, as it seemed. He did not have to travel far to have a perfect example for this.

In fact said example sat right across him in this cold, forbidding January chill.

He could not imagine his father's situation to be an easy one.

To be bound to stay here at Middle Earth, bound by a responsibility as big as the one weighing on his shoulders as the keeper of Vilya, could not be easy at all.

And yet… Even without said ring, Elladan was convinced that his father would not have sailed to Valinor anyway. Not yet.

He might not mention it, but the love for his children and the worry about their fate and wellbeing was what kept their father from sailing – more than any Elven ring possibly ever could.

What a burden all of this had to be!

Watching his sons spending their days chasing Orks, revenge being their apparently only goal in life for the longest time during the last thousand years – delaying their choices – could not have been easy for him to accept.

Rarely did they come home for more than a short visit since they could not stand the memory of their mother that seemed to seep out of every shadowy corner of their home.

He seriously wondered how their father managed to endure to actually 'live' in a place that constantly 'whispered' about what once was – or could have been – but never would.

How he did possibly bear it…

If it would not be for Arwen that place, once ringing with love, inspiration and joy had to be no more than a shrine of erstwhile happiness indeed. A constant reminder of the loss and grief to befall him – to befall all of them...

There were still days Elladan woke to find himself hoping against hope – believing all of that heartrending sorrow to be not the harsh, undeniable truth – but nothing but a terrible, vile nightmare blurring into the first rays of the rising sun.

Only to realise it did not…

How far worse all of this had to be for their father, he wondered.

To be lying awake in that very same room, inside the very same bed he had shared with their mother, probable still unable to accept their fate, as well.

And nowadays their younger sister had decided. Decided to become mortal. How terrible to stand by to whiteness sweet little Arwen refusing immortality for the love of a Man – doomed to be withering away due to her own, free choice…

It was almost ironic within its tragic that it was no other but the last descendent of their father's very own twin, that caused their beloved sister to choose mortality.

The twin parallel was another issue troubling him.

Watching one's own twin age and die had to be a dreadful experience, indeed. The mere idea of it caused him to shudder! Not only because of the loss, which he assumed to be just terrible. Being ripped off not 'only' a brother, but off his other half even…

The mere thought that Elrohir might take such a choice… Elrohir choosing to age, whither and die in front of his very eyes, while he Elladan would remain just as he was, ageless, vibrant with life and immortal…It had to be like watching himself age and die within a mirror, an imagination so terrible it simply took his breath away…

And yet, the irony that it was their unknown, long passed uncle Elros' last descendent who now turned out to be sweet little Arwen's undoing made it – if possible – even worse for their father to bear.

As much as he liked and respected Aragorn, Elladan just failed to understand what caused Arwen to choose death and decay, to share some brief decades by his side.

He simply could imagine neither himself, nor Elrohir to wilfully make such a choice for the love of a mortal.

But then, the prospect of rejoining their mother at Valinor was tempting and terrifying at the same time, too.

He longed to see her again - longed to once again see her beloved, face, to feel the comforting touch of her cool, delicate hands brushing the hair back from his temples if he was upset, telling him whatever worries troubling him would pass to bring back the sunshine into his life.

Sunshine he had once felt bathed within but could not find anymore now, no matter how hard, how desperately he tried.

Feeling loved, understood and content… once she had sailed all that had ended.

And yet, he could not stand the idea to find out that – after all this time – she still might not have managed to find her peace. What – at Valinor – was he supposed to do then?

**O**

_Elrohir_

As they finally reached Helms Deep in the wee hours of morning at the sixth day of their journey, Elrohir was startled at the state the defiant stronghold was in.

At one side almost half of the soot-blackened castle wall was missing. Bits of stones of various sizes were littering the immediate as well as the wider proximity around. The force necessary to cause such destruction was unimaginable.

It had to have been a dreadful battle indeed.

As they had crossed the area in front of the rampart it had been a dreadful sight. The vast space was still littered with the corpses of Orcs and Uruk-hai. Some of them already piled up on a heap to be burned. Two spots of ashes nearby telling a tale of their own.

The dead bodies of Men and Elves were lined in long rows at the other side of the battlefield, instead.

Many of them. Too many.

Men, too fragile and weakened with age to have stood the spilt of a chance and – even worse – boys too young to even be allowed to whiteness the battle, let alone fight and die within. Barely more than children they were… and yet…

The losses had been terrible; there could be no denying such.

Most of them probably did not die out here but rather inside, defending the stronghold.

The clearing up work had begun, one could easily see that, but it was still a terrible lot of work to do.

Luckily enough it was January, not June. He did not dare to remotely imagine what the scenery might have looked and smelled like then.

Further down the row they passed the corpses of Elves – many of whom they had known.

Sensing his brother's despair, Elrohir immediately tried to lighten the mood.

"Now… Just have a look at that pile of dead Orks over there! Isn't it a shame?"

Once he had uttered those words he could sense his brother's thankfulness to escape the sheer overwhelming air of gloominess and despair.

"This we did miss?! Outrageous!" his brother agreed, thankful to be given a chance to escape his dark, gloomy thoughts just has Elrohir had intended.

"Yes, it is sheer unbelievable, indeed," their father mixed into their discussion with an air of dry sarcasm. Even non looking Elrohir could literally 'hear' him rolling his eyes.

Neither spoke of how much the scenery and the reminder of their loss were really troubling them, but each could sense the amount of pain it caused the others.

Having Elven senses and empathy did spare a lot of troubles concerning difficult conversations, granting better understanding and tactful interpersonal dealings at handling difficult situations. To mere humans this sometimes appeared to be mind reading or telepathy, which it was not. It was just greater perception and deeper sensibility.

Although Elves did know about that difference well enough, it yet felt annoyingly complicated to deal with Men, whose limited sense to recognise their interlocutor's mood and intention could be quite enervating and difficult. Unaware of Elven sentiments, humans could be terribly impolite, if not rude without even realising such at times.

They might not have been this familiar with the prospect of all of this if it had not been for several descendents of the Numenor to be raised at Rivendell once in a while, the last of them being little Estel coming to share their life at Rivendell about 80 years ago.

**O**

_Elrond_

It was still unbelievable how quickly this little boy had grown.

Elrond still remembered his scared little face, hiding within his mother's sleeve as they had arrived at Rivendell after the death of his father.

Just when Arwen had decided to stay with her grandmother for a decade or two! If she had been around to help raising little Aragorn; to read him bedtime stories and listen to his hardship and crying after his mother's death, they probably would not be in this whole dilemma right now.

She would still care about him, deeply, but along the lines of an elder sister, probably…

Now whatsoever… Well…

When she had returned home, the scrawny little boy had already grown into a handsome young man and when the two of them had met for the first time the whole dilemma they were currently in had taken its course.

That was why they were here right now in the first place, was it not? It had been unfortunate timing for sure. Life could be so incredibly strange at times.

It was not that he did not like the boy, though. In fact he did. Aragorn was dear to his heart, indeed. How could he not be, if the boy had peacefully fallen asleep within his very arms in his childhood days?

He did raise him after all and he did not treat him differently than any of his own children thousands of years ago.

The only problem about Aragorn was that he was human.

Elrond could not have wished for anyone better to marry his beloved youngest child and only daughter – if only – Aragorn would not be doomed to die…

Frosty rime covered the scenery, as they rode into Helms Deep, their horses' hooves clattering upon the cobbled pavement, of its inner ward.

Several bits of stones had been carried up here, inside the castle. Ordered and arranged by size they now waited to be rearranged in the rebuilding of the outer wall.

Just that instant the first rays of morning sun decided to peer upon the mountaintops. The scenery remained cold and chilly, still.

Turning his head, Elrond once again sensed his presence before he even laid eyes upon him.

" _Anann le ú-gennin,"_ the Dunedain muttured, bowing his head in a gesture of respect and devotion.

" _Glass nín le achened,"_ Elrond responded, drawing his foster son to his chest in an uncharacteristic display of affection, apparently startling him.

His twin sons did not struggle following his example, hugging Aragorn, both.

"Elladan."

"Aragorn."

_"Muindor nin."_

"Elrohir."

With that Aragorn's eyes did focus upon him once again. Realising the concern within his eyes Aragorn answered to the question, unspoken.

"Haldir," he declared, carefully weighing his every word. "He is still in a bad enough state, I'm afraid. But the fever has lessened, finally. He has fallen asleep at dawn. Maybe we should let him rest for a while…"

"So we will," Elrond agreed, reassuringly. "It is good to hear that he is better. We will tend to him as soon as he wakes, then."

He did cast his foster son his rare, but heartfelt smile, which did not miss its effect at all. Returning the gesture of affection and reassurance, Aragorn seemed to relax beneath his very gaze.

As Elrond allowed his eyes to wander across the tattered fortress, once more he was sheer overwhelmed by the air of destruction and despair surrounding it.

"If I'm not much mistaken we will find a couple of things to pass the time. It certainly isn't any harm you did summon me."

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully at that, his eyes clouding with sadness.

"I did what ever I could," he declared, despair dripping from his very being. "I tried, but...we had to face terrible losses, anyway. So many did die! Even in the days following the battle – and so many of them have been too young to know… It is terrible… So much grief and destruction...I wish I could have done more…but… I…"

"You did what was in your powers to prevent most of it, I am convinced of that." Elrond stated, sensing his despair.

"Not half of what I would have craved to do." Aragorn murmured his eyes still clouded with shadows. "But ... those who progressed so far will probably make it, I assume. Although…"

The way his voice hitched ever so slightly as well of the steep line of worry between his eyes deepening, told of how troubled he currently was.

"Although?" Elrond encouraged, gesturing at Aragorn to continue.

Reluctantly he stated gathering up strength every second as it seemed.

"It has been a long journey and you need to refresh yourselves and get some rest for sure, but – I would like to ask you to take a look at another wounded first. See, there is one young boy I am seriously worried about."

As Elrond looked at his foster son, he could easily sense how incredibly important the matter was to him.

With a nod of agreement he reassured him of his support. "So then, Estel, show me where we need to begin. Lead the way, will you?"

**AN:** I’m curious to know what you think of this. Please drop me a line or two, would you? It will not remain as depressing as it is right now, I promise. I do love fluffy situations way too much to leave my favourite characters this gloomy.

Just in case you are wondering: I am aware of the fact that the battle at Helms Deep did not take place in January. I decided to alter the timeline to suit my intentions, though. For what I have planned out for the characters within this fiction they are in desperate need of time and since Hermione's Time Turner is not an option here – unfortunately - it will have to work out like this, I am afraid. So instead of rushing the plot through the original timeline, fitting the original story perfectly, it is January in mine…

In this story the twins did not participate in the battle as they do in the book, since it suits my plot better, btw. Oh, yes, did I mention Haldir is not dead in this fiction, either? Fortunately! I did not like him dying anyway.

Doing the literature research for this fiction I came along a very inspiring site listing up Sindarin phrases. Maybe you would like to have a look. It is called: Tara's Sindarin Phrasebook. 'Thanks for putting up so much work into a task as complex as that and sharing it!

_**'Meleth nin** -_ My Love

**_Anann le ú-gennin ~_** I haven't seen you for a long time

**_Glass nín le achened ~_** It is my joy to see you again

**_Muindor nin ~_** My brother

**_Estel ~_** Hope

Smiles, Serpentina


	2. Starlight seeping through the clouds

**Beneath the starlit sky**

Chapter 2                       _-Starlight seeping through the clouds-_

 

_Morwen_

The tendril of her sandy-red hair was fuzzy and soaked with sweat as Morwen brushed it back from her face yet again.

She was entirely exhausted, she was cold and hungry and she could not even remember when she had last been clean, rested and calm, but she had ceased to care for sure.

All that mattered was that Eothain took one rattled breath after another. That he woke from those restless fevered dreams, capturing him for the most part of the day, long enough to fetch him a sip of soup or water.

She was entirely grateful for everything that had been done for him.

Here at Helms Deep they were short of almost anything these days, food, medicine, bandages, blankets, wood – and space.

Too many people jammed together within the remains of the Hornburg. A stronghold that had been built for the purpose of defence alone and did not suit the needs of so many people to actually live within – especially not during winter – especially not wounded exhausted and desperate people as they were.

Everything was draughty and clammy and just plain hopeless these days.

Therefore they could be glad to be given a room of their own, even if it was the size of a mere closet with only a slit of a window, way too high above their heads to gaze outside.

She was definitely thankful indeed – nonetheless she felt locked in within this intimidating stronghold.

Being a farmwoman all her life she was used to spend most of her time outside and therefore felt almost claustrophobic in here.

She would have rather slept in the stables where the horses and other cattle were housed than up here in this clammy, draughty room.

But then – wounds and horses did not mix well – a fact each Rohirim knew well enough. The smell of blood causing the horses to become nervous and skittish, while the closeness to horse dung caused lots of wounded to end up dieing even if they had been better already.

She was well aware of all of this. Nonetheless, she desperately missed the freedom to gaze at the myriad of stars sprinkling the night sky, arcing above the broad acres and wide windswept plains of Rohan like a dome.

So did poor little Freda, probably. Her small form cowering in a corner atop a sack of straw for most of the time, scared and unhappy to be confined in this dim and sticky room, filled with the foul smell of her brother's terrible wound, yet too scared to move more than a few inches from her mother's side.

This was one more issue troubling her. Morwen realised that it had to be just terrible for her little girl. She knew that Freda needed her just as much as Eothain did – probably even more – but she hardly had any chance to focus on her these days. All of her strengths and attention being absorbed by her mortality wounded son. She could not leave Eothain's side to take a walk with Freda, as much as she wanted to.

It was almost three weeks now that she feared for her son's wellbeing and with each day to pass she had less hope. Three terrible, miserable weeks.

To be stabbed with a sword right through the gut was considered a near death sentence. Even those who did not die of blood loss right away were more than likely doomed to perish of the infection to follow.

They had embedded her boy atop a bed of straw and it was only due to the efforts of the Lord Aragorn, who came to tend on Eothain's wound, daily that he did make it this far at all.

He did preserve longer than Morwen had ever dared to hope, but what for? Just to be dying more slowly? More painfully? More… Hopelessness captured her once again, dwelling at those musings.

About a week ago they had been moved to this room now - separated from the others. She could not tell for sure whether this had occurred to grand them more privacy, or to spare the other wounded the sight of a young boy - barely more than a child - suffering and dying as painfully as this.

In the end it did not matter, though. To watch him die would be plain and simple unbearable. Be it amid the Great Hall, witnessed by countless eyes, or here within the privacy of this closet.

When, finally, the fever had begun she had been almost sure that he was to die now, indeed. But he fought it, clinging so desperately to the tiny strings of life that it was sheer unbearable to witness him within his death throes.

But what was she supposed to do? Telling him how futile, how entirely pointless his struggling was? To blandish him to just lay back and stop struggling for life, to allow the sweetness of sleep to take him – to drift further and further away until there would be no pain, no struggling, no desperation anymore?

More than once she had thought of this, as it was sheer unbearable to watch him in such agony without the slightest hope of recovery and yet… The mere thought Eothain's heart might stop beating almost caused her to loose her mind.

Pinching her eyes shut against the surge of pain capturing her at the very thought of it she bit back a sob of terror, shaking her head in denial.

It was just unimaginable that her beloved son could lie here, dying from a sword cut now. This just could not – must not be…

When she tried to focus on the days when her greatest worry had been Garulf being too big of a horse to be ridden by Eothain – it felt like a terrible long time ago.

Not once did she question this order after the death of her husband almost two years ago, overlooking how much the boy had grown in the meantime.

Until that day only a couple of weeks ago had occurred. That fateful day when Orcs and Wild Men had come to inflict war on the lands of Rohan, burning houses and harvest alike, scattering the cattle, slaying each and everyone to cross their path of destruction.

All three of them could have died easily enough that day and yet, they did not.

Morwen's only thought had been to save her children sending them off to Edoras to cry havoc. She did not expect to survive to ever see them again, but she did. She had even found them here at Helms Deep!

But the relief had been short cut by the terror of watching Eothain head off for a battle against the superiors forces of Orcs and Uruk-hai. And now - after all they had been through - after that terrifying battle, a battle none of them had expected to survive, they were still here. Just to be condemned of watching Eothain suffer and die from that dreadful wound. It was so excruciatingly, unbelievable wrong.

Rubbing the tears from her eyes she once again glanced at poor little Freda, relieved to find her still asleep in the corner on her sack filled with straw.

The creaking of the door caused Morwen to look up from the blackness of her musings, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the Lord Aragorn gesturing at a tall Elven looking stranger with long dark-brown hair to step over the threshold.

**O**

_Elrond_

To his surprise Aragorn did not lead him towards the Great Hall where most of the wounded were accommodated and treated, but headed for a small closet not far from the archway leading out to the inner ward.

The atmosphere of sickness and despair in there was almost overwhelming. With a quick glance across the narrow, dim lit room Elrond's Elven senses gathered in a multitude of details.

The boy's unconscious form atop the bed of straw was feverish. His heartbeat was rushed and unstable. The dreadful smell telling a tale of its own...

A small girl was sitting up in the corner, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

At the same time an entirely exhausted woman was struggling to rise from her kneeling position beside the boy but failed, sinking back to sit upon her heels instead.

The movement caused his gaze to linger upon her. In a gesture of greeting he slightly bowed his head into her direction only to focus upon the boy again the very next second.

His condition was serious, so much Elrond could tell without a closer look already. After cleaning his hands in a bowl of water at the foot of the bed, he kneeled down at the boy's side to examine the wound, which brought him on eyelevel with the sandy-haired woman.

"I am Elrond of Rivendell. I am here to try and help, if I can," he declared carefully watching her reaction.

She did not respond, the short widening of her eyes being the only sign she had indeed heard him. Her gaze flickering back towards the boy, uttering neither approve nor denial.

Focussing back upon the task at hand Elrond reached out to lift the blood-soaked bandages covering the wound, but what he saw caused his brow to furrow.

"There will be time for further explanations later on," he stated calmly, but seriously. "Help me to get everything prepared. Now, Aragorn."

For another brief moment he turned to look at the red-haired woman, sensing her terror and despair.

"You are the boy's mother, I assume?" he asked carefully.

It was only then she truly looked at him. Her eyes were dark, bloodshot and right out desperate.

She merely nodded apparently not trusting her voice.

"Y-yes," she finally croaked out in a voice that was hoarse from crying and the terror he sensed radiating from her in sharp waves.

"My-y name is Morwen, my Lord," she mumbled.

Taking in a quivering breath, she then glanced at the shivering boy once again. "Eothain?" she breathed. "Will he…"

She trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, apparently unable to word her most horrid fears.

He could not blame her. It pained him not to be able of giving her more hope.

"I seriously do not know," he told her. The earnestness and calm of his explanation lifting some of her panic, he could easily enough sense that.

"He _is_ very gravely wounded," he added carefully weighing his every word, watching her reaction closely. "But I will do what is in my powers to help him. The procedure may turn out painful for him, though, even if he is unconscious. We will need to reopen the wound. It is infected. Do you think you can bear to stay around for that?"

Once again she drew in a quivering breath and then nodded, determinately. "Yes," she declared, out stamping her fears, gathering up courage.

Once more he did contemplate her, trying to ascertain it would be no mistake to let her stay and was pleased at what determination and strength he sensed within her. She would not faint or lose her nerve mid way through the process he was convinced of that.

**O**

_Morwen_

"Well then, Morwen," the Elven Lord declared with a nod of agreement, "you'll sit down by Eothain's head. Keep cooling hi-"

"Mummy!?"

Whatever he had meant to tell her was cut short by the outcry of little Freda hurling herself into her mother's arms.

"Freda! It's alright, Sweetheart. Everything is alright," Morwen tried to break through her little girl's distress. "It's alright, Deary. You need to let go of me now, do you hear me? The Elven Lord here will help us tending to Eothain. You know he is very, very ill…and you…"

With that she trailed off, not knowing whatever else to tell her.

Little Freda certainly could not stay for what needed to be done, but sending her away would upset her, so much Morwen knew for sure. Her little girl was so easily frightened these days – as she was right now, unwilling to leave her mother's side. But then, who could possibly blame her?

People said Elves did sense the mood of the beings surrounding them and apparently there was more truth to this than Morwen might have ever imagined, as the Lord Elrond looked at her compassionately before he spoke.

"Freda," he addressed the little girl staring at him out of huge frightened eyes.

"My name is Elrond. As your mother said, I am here to help tending to your brother's wounds. It is really important that we try to help him as soon as we possibly can! Do you understand?"

The little girl merely nodded, neither moving nor speaking, still.

"Well then," he declared with the hint of a smile. "Listen, Freda, outside in the hallway you should find two other Elven looking men. They are my sons. Tell them I need some fresh bandages and water. Can you do that?"

She nodded, entirely surprised to actually be involved and her eyes appeared less panic stricken already as she climbed to her feet, focussing on the task at hand.

"They might have headed for the stables by now to tend to our horses, but I am sure you will manage to find them, nonetheless. Won't you?" The Elven Lord added.

For a short moment the both of them looked at one another and then Freda nodded once again, slowly and seriously this time. "A-Alright." she whispered.

The Lord Elrond commented this with the hint of another smile. "Good," he stated. "I want you to stay outside with the two of them while we tend to your brother. If you can not find them, knock at the door, but _do not_ enter. Do you understand?"

At that, Freda nodded once more and it was just then she did turn to look at Morwen again.

"I'll find them, Mummy! Don't you worry!" she exclaimed appearing so much more strong and content than she herself felt, all of a sudden.

"I'm convinced of that, Sweetheart," Morwen uttered, as she watched her little girl turning towards the door. It was just when she had reached for the handle already that the Lord Elrond called after her.

"And – Freda…" he added, causing her to turn around and look at him, "thank you for your help."

With a broad smile upon her freckled face little Freda slipped out of the room.

Pinching her eyes shut, Morwen tried not to entirely lose herself within the glorious feel of relief. She could not even remotely name what this insightful and totally unexpected consideration actually meant to her.

"Well then, Morwen," the strange, entirely unfathomable Elf addressed her, once again. "Sit down by your son's head, now. Do talk to him and try to soothe him down the best you can," he encouraged her, before he focussed upon his task entirely. "Let us begin."

Glad to have a task to focus upon, Morwen took the cool piece of cloths that was placed within her trembling hands.

For the next couple of hours she watched fascinated and not the least bit intimidated as the Lord Elrond used his skills as a healer as well as powers as entirely strange and peculiar as his Elven magic to tend to Eothain's wounds.

Once or twice the scorned smell like a blacksmith crafting new horseshoes reached her nostrils, causing her to shiver.

Time did not matter at all – or seemed to be spreading out endlessly all the same. No matter how desperately she tried, Morwen could not have told how much time had passed, indeed.

In this closet apparently existing out of time and space once the faint ringing of Elven magic filled the air, she felt entirely calm and content. A great reassurance filling her very being that caused her to relax for the first time within weeks of agony.

Images, sensations and musings were blurring into one huge sensation of confidence.

As, despite her struggling to smooth him down, her son did rise up against their struggling to heal him, the Elf reached out to him.

A hand bearing a ring of gold and blue was positioning itself right above Eothain's chest, soothing him back into that wondrous state of disinterest.

" _Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen."_

A very faint halo seemed to surround the Elven Lord – like star shine in a night of a new moon – but she might have been mistaken about that as well. She could not longer separate dream, reality or illusion.

Hour's later – or maybe just then, as Eothain's body shook within cramps of fever and blood loss, that very same hand reached for the bleeding wound within his bowls, without actually touching it.

" _Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lín enin 'raw hen."_

Much later, or possibly even before. The ring-clad hand soothed down the wrinkles of pain and agony from Eothain's face.

" _Suil Annui, erio thûl lín i faer hen."_

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eothain's breathing evened out, his condition stabilising.

As his breathing evened out to indicate a state of sweet recovery, Morwen fell like a tree log, entirely spent - drifting into a state of sweet nothingness just where she lay by his side.

**O**

_Freda_

Stepping outside into the hallway, Freda blinked against the light flouting in from the inner ward. After the dimness and that dreadful stench within the closet it was quite refreshing to breeze fresh air even if it caused her to shiver in the icy chill of the morning.

Noises of the day to begin were drifting in from outside causing her to curiously move onward.

As she stepped out into the frosty ward she was faced by the beautiful sight of the morning sun adding a reddish glow to the scenery covered in hoar frost. Glittering.

A few steps across the yard three of the most beautiful creatures she had ever laid eyes upon were assembled. One of them was a black stallion with a long, silky floating, shiny mane. The other two were dark sorrels looking almost identical up to the tiny white stars at their foreheads. Their breaths were building little puffs in the chilly morning air. Elven horses they were!

Beside those horses the platinum-haired prince of Mirkwood stood, talking to two other Elves resembling the Lord Elrond to a great amount. In fact these two were looking as much alike as those sorrels did. They just had to be twins.

So she had found them! Nonetheless there was no smug grin to spread across little Freda's face.

She was not used to be around Elves and their presence was intimidating her to a great amount.

They were creatures of ledges… tales to dwell upon and then return to the safety of her everyday work. Once in a while her great grandmother had told her tales of Elven glory and peculiarity. Freda could easily enough remember that, even after the old woman's passing, her great grandmother's deep adulation for those creatures was never leaving her, but remained unchanged within little Freda's mind.

And even if she had come to see some Elves since the battle of Helms Deep, it had always been from afar.

The first one to actually talk to her being the Lord Elrond and considering these two were his sons they had to be of noble birth, too. She had absolutely no idea how to address them, properly.

But her brother was sick and the Lord Elrond had said they needed more bandages. Therefore she mustn't hide within the shadows any longer. Struggling for courage she stepped forward. "I m-my name is Freda," she muttered, intimidated by the whole situation. As all three of them turned to look at her in a fluid movement, the very breath caught within her throat. She was spared any further worry, though as one of them just squatted down in front of her so that she was facing him on eyelevel, now.

"Hello Freda," he greeted her kindly. "My name is Elladan – and these are Elrohir, my brother and Legolas, our friend."

With that he gestured at the others with a shake of his head. While the other two were still looking at her in surprise, the one called Elladan addressed her kindly once again. "What can we do for you?"

"The Elf…umm, the Lord Elrond… Your, your father…" Freda stammered, still nervous but quickly managed to get back her composure at being faced with his kind, encouraging smile. "He…he said I was to stay outside with you while he tends to my brother… and he said…He said they need bandages and more water in there."

**O**

_Elladan_

A short exchange of gazes between the twins made utterly clear what the both of them supposed this need for bandages and water to be about - although usually hot water and towels were more frequently asked for on such occasions.

It was utterly clear their father had intended little Freda to stay out of the way for whatever needed to be done in there, without bluntly sending her away.

"Ae, I see," Elladan declared with a nod of understanding, smiling encouragingly at the little girl. "We need bandages and water - and where can we possibly find those? Could you help us there?"

"Yes, of course!" Freda reassured him, nodding earnestly. With that she already turned on her heal to lead the way.

They had barely reached the Great Hall, when Elrohir suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Elladan sensing his twin's surprise followed his gaze, curious at what might have caught his brother's attention so soundly.

What he saw caused his lips to curl with the ghost of a smile. Across the hall a young fair haired woman was feeding soup to a wounded.

**O**

_Elrohir_

"Who is that?" the words had escaped his lips before he could think better of it, which granted him a raised brow, as well as a knowing smirk from his brother.

Luckily enough at least Legolas was currently outside at the stables tending to their horses instead of rubbing this into his friend's face for the rest of – the millennium, probably.

For once Elrohir was thankful for their currant company, since the little girl was entirely oblivious to their bantering.

"This is the Lady Eowyn," she declared, her voice holding a tone of deep admiration.

"She is the niece of Theoden, King," little Freda added, losing more and more of her initiate shyness with every second to pass.

This information caused another exchange of gazes between the twins saying as much as; _'Ae, yes, nice, indeed.'_

Elrohir decided to make the best of that piece of information. "Well I'm sure _she_ can tell us where to find some bandages then. We _should_ consider asking her."

"Oh yes, by all means." Elladan mumbled, dryly and Elrohir was almost sure it took him a lot of self-control not to roll his eyes.

For once he decided to ignore his brother's sarcasm, though. Bowing his head in Freda's direction he assured himself: "Lady Eowyn, you say?"

"M-hm," Freda agreed, nodding earnestly. "She is a shield maid of Rohan. People are calling her the White Lady of Rohan as she is so fair and beautiful!"

"Well then," Elrohir murmured before crossing the hall to introduce himself.

"My Lady Eowyn," he addressed her respectfully but not without the slightly amused twinkle of his grandmother.

**O**

_Elladan_

Not without a trace of amusement Elladan watched the scene to unfold before him. Just like their platinum-blond friend, his twin took some delight to add an air of a light-hearted, flirtatiousness into a conversation at times.

So far this way of action had been restrained to women of their kind, though.

An Elleth would be able to easily sense the lack of any serious intention and recognise the harmless bantering for what it was. But what about an entirely human woman?

Being addressed, the _'White Lady of Rohan'_ looked up and Elladan could literally sense the great amount of surprise and appreciation radiating from her as her gaze fell upon the tall, handsome Elven looking stranger approaching her.

After an apologetic smile at the boy atop to cot and a quick word with another woman, the bowl of soup was passed and the Lady Eowyn stood up to full height, looking even more graceful than before.

For a human woman she definitely was beautiful. Elladan had to admit as much. Nonetheless he was mildly surprised at his brother’s way of action.

He did not deem it exceptionally wise to upset the precious ' _Lady Eowyn, niece of Theoden, King,'_ by turning her head to hope in vain. This was just bound to not turn out well…

So not without worry he did prepare to watch Galadriel's mischievous gaze doing its deed once more.

Straitening her posture, the Lady Eowyn was brushing the rough fabric of the work coat she wore over her dress once or twice, with the intention to smooth it down. Then, apparently giving up upon it, she hurriedly discharged the smock like cloths before she turned to greet Elrohir.

Although he was not especially eavesdropping, Elladan had no trouble following their conversation as his brother introduced himself to the Lady Eowyn and told her about the things their father had asked Freda to bring back to the room.

At the mention of him and little Freda waiting at the side of the Hall, the Lady's gaze focussed upon them, her eyes widening at the sight of an identical image of her current collocutor. With a nod of greeting Elladan bowed his head in her direction, which she returned before she focussed back upon his twin.

It was only then, little Freda got back his attention by determinately tapping his wrist.

"Elladan! Hey, Elladan," she addressed him urgently.

Looking up at him with so much earnestness he did not have the heart to show any sign of surprise of dismissal at the unexpected contact. After all she did not know that touching anyone who was not a very close friend or family, without the opponent's explicit consent, was considered exceptionally rude amongst his kind.

"What is taking them up so long? We need to get bandages for my brother!"

"Can't take them long anymore. He just told her about the things we need," Elladan explained kindly, which caused Freda to stare at him open-mouthed.

"You heard that?" she gasped. "I didn't!"

"Well of course you did not!" he exclaimed, a broad grin spreading across his face at her obvious confusion. "You're no Elleth, are you?"

"Can all Elves do that?" she asked still terribly impressed.

"Yes," he declared, shrugging. "That's nothing special, at all."

"Special?" she frowned. "That's creepy!"

**O**

_Elrond_

With a mixture of pity and admiration Elrond contemplated the barely conscious woman who did fall asleep right there and then, in a half cowering position at her son's bedside – her head resting atop the straw of the cot – entirely exhausted.

She had tried to do more than a mere human possibly could endure. She deserved to rest – indeed.

So not further questioning his motives – in a gesture of concern and care – Elrond reached out to cover her sleeping form with his cloak as he left, shielding her against the draughty chill of the stronghold.

 

**AN:** I would like to thank all those who left kudos or a comment. This story is terribly important to me at the moment and I'm seriously happy that you apparently like what I wrote so far! Please give me some more feedback if you can…

Considering Elven etiquette and love life I came across a very interesting site called: 'ANSEREG'. Although I don't intend to stick to what I read there entirely, I got definitely inspired.

I'm not sure, whether there are such creatures as Elven horses in canon. But then, if there are beings like Maiar horses, why ever not?

Considering the way Arwen's horse did not tire in that scene as they escaped the Nazgul, but even appeared to be able to speed up once she whispered into its ear, I say that was no mere horse, probably.

Well then, Elven horses as I imagine them are as tall as a Shire horse or Friesian horse at least with the graceful appearance and movements of an Andalusian or Arabian horse. Swoon – so that's how those Elven guys hook up with the girls of Rohan, probably. ;-)

Once again thankfully taken from 'Tara's Sindarin Phrasebook:

**Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen.** ~ Golden Sun, may your warmth bring healing to this heart.  
 **Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lín enin 'raw hen.** ~ Great earth, may you give your strength to this body.  
 **Suil Annui, erio thûl lín i faer hen.** ~ Western Winds, may your breath lift this spirit

Smiles, Serpentina


	3. The UnDeath

**Beneath the starlit sky**

Chapter 3                     _-The UnDeath-_

 

_Aragorn_

It was around noon when they had accomplished their work tending to young Eothain’s wounds, finally. Though he could be considered ‘healed’ by no means, he had a fair chance of recovery now.

As they reached the Great Hall the humming of countless voices could be heard. At each end of the Hall a magnificent fireplace was located, both of them bearing a flickering fire inside. Nonetheless the air was not warm in this vast room either. The appetising smell rising from a large cauldron that was dangling above the fire greeted them with the promise of a hot meal. It was only now that he realised how hungry he actually was.

Everywhere around the Hall women and young girls were up and about to provide the wounded with a bowl of Stew, helping those who could not manage to eat alone yet. Everyone else was assembling around one of the hearths. Noisy babble of voices filled the vast room ridding the atmosphere within this dim, draughty stronghold off some of its anxiety.    

As they turned for the left, they were spotting the twins and Freda sitting close to the fire, talking to Gimli and Legolas who had apparently only just joined them. Curiously the little freckled girl contemplated the wild-looking, bearded Dwarf.

 “Who’s tha’ pretty lass in yer company?” Gimli quipped with a friendly gaze at her.

 Since she had outgrown her pervious shyness Freda looked up a smile lighting her freckled face, holding out a not quite clean hand to greet them. Whereas Gimli shook it without hesitation the Elf contemplated the little girl’s outstretched hand with a tad of surprise before he likewise took it.

“Freda,” she declared cheerfully as she shook his hand. “We already met back this morning!”

“Indeed,” Legolas declared with a smile. “But that’s some change with you for sure! You look much more cheerful now!” 

“But yes!” she declared, turning her head to glance at his friend once again. “Elladan told me lots of fantastic stories - about Trolls and Dwarves and some big evil Dragon called Smoke and...”

 “Smaug!” Legolas, Gimli and Elladan corrected with one voice.

 “Oh well, right!” she laughed before she turned to look at Elrond instead. “Is my brother better now?” she asked quite more serious than before.

 “Better, yes,” he responded carefully, “but he is no where near back in good health yet.”

 She held his gaze. “And... my Mummy?” she asked with a little more apprehension this time.

“She is asleep right now,” he declared carefully. “So is your brother. It would be good to let them rest for a while.”

 “That’s good!” Freda declared with a sigh of relief.

Thoughtfully Aragorn contemplated the exchange between the two of them. He had been mildly surprised when Elrond had covered the sleeping form of her mother with his cloak at their exit. The gesture appeared to be strangely personal, even if he knew it was only logical. There had not been anything else to function as a comforter and he could have hardly ripped that poor wounded boy off his blanket, after all.

But then Elrond had always cared about other’s wellbeing, as long as Aragorn knew him. It had been a gesture suiting his thoughtfulness and kindness in general. Just right now he was carefully advising the little girl to come and tell him in case anything might change for the worse without frightening her at the prospect. 

“If you have finished your meal, you should return to your mother now, Freda.”

“I will.” she assured him, earnestly. Then her eyes flickered back towards Elladan, a silent plea within her gaze. “But, what ever happened to Smoke then?” she murmured with a clear trace of disappointment.

 “Smaug.” Elladan, Legolas, Gimli and Elrond corrected within a second.

“Oh well, right!” the little girl grinned. “I happen to forget that, constantly! Some strange name that is!” 

“That it is for sure!” Elladan agreed. Smiling he promised to tell her more the other day, which earned him another heartfelt smile.

 “You promise?”

 “Aye, I promise,” he smiled back at her.

Curiously enough Elrohir did not quite follow their conversation, but appeared kind of preoccupied, Aragorn realised. His eyes were wandering to the other end of the Great Hall quite often instead. With quite an amount of surprise Aragorn’s eyes fell upon the Lady Eowyn as he followed his gaze. Like several other women _`The White Lady of Rohan’_ was currently busy collecting the dishes at the far end of the Hall and for all it looked like she was entirely unaware of the interest she had evoked within the son of Elrond – which was an interesting matter to keep an eye upon, indeed.  

Aragorn only realised little Freda had been following his gaze when the little girl’s voice suddenly startled him: “Can you hear everything the Lady Eowyn is talking over there, too?”

_This_ got Elrohir’s attention, finally.

“What!?” he exclaimed with a trace annoyance.

 

**O**

 

For quite some more time they continued on their meal and it was just after Freda had finally left them, Aragorn started to fill Elrond in about Haldir’s condition. 

“He got struck by a sword first,” he explained trailing off to contemplate his choice of words for a moment. “That wound was not too bad,” he then added. “His armour shielded most of the blow. But the other…”

“What else did happen?” Elrond asked, sensing his inner struggle.

“Well he – got distracted – did not realise that an Uruk-hai was approaching him, hurling his axe right into his back. I saw him fall, Elrond and I realised it could not turn out well. I mean; to get struck right into the back by the axe of an Uruk-hai – like that…”

He trailed off, carefully choosing his next words, once again. “It is not a wound to survive easily. And so he did not.”

“What does that mean?” Elrond quested, entirely thunderstruck now.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that well… When I left Haldir out there in the rain he was dead, Elrond. Dead. Yet when we found him in the wee hours of morning when we started searching the stronghold for any possible survivors – he was dead no more… Just unconscious. I tended to his wounds the best I could and therefore managed to keep him alive, but… He’s so strange, now, Elrond. So… hopeless.”

 “How so?”

 “Well, as I said; that sword cut is healing well enough. He suffered from some fever during his recovery, but that did pass by now as well. What’s troubling me much more is the other wound since that axe apparently fractured a vertebral arch, you see?”

 “Where?”

 “Around the lower neck or upper thorax, I think.”

 “Ae! So his breathing works well enough?”

 “It does.”

 “It is no complete leason, I suppose. He actually _can_ move, though still not quite well at the moment. Curiously enough, his legs appear to be better than his arms, so I suppose it’s an effect of some haematoma pressuring and irritating the nerve involved. He is yet not able to grasp well. But he is definitely progressing. If we could fix that trauma the ability might return, I’m convinced.”

 “Ae!” Elrond once again mumbled, thoughtfully. “I see. Well, possibly.”

 “He is not taking any of this well, you see? He has not spoken a single word since he awoke. I’m sure he could - yet he just would not.”

 

**O**

_Elrond_

The letter had not been as precise as this information, indeed. Far from that! In fact it had been way too short to actually get a grip upon the situation he would come to face at all. Now whatsoever Elrond had a good idea of what he might come to face except from that curious issue concerning the fact that Haldir might have been actually – dead.

He could not help but wonder what kind of effect the current situation might have on Haldir.  

For all it looked like he did not take it well. But then – honestly – who could possibly blame him? Whenever Elrond had been around to witness an Elf dying – whenever he had been present to watch that stunned realising of an Elf’s very own, entirely real vulnerability – he had wondered what kind of epiphany moment this might be.

To realise that a state of non aging must not be confused with immortality, indeed. It had to be plain terrifying he assumed.

Of course all of them knew well enough they were not truly ‘immortal’ as they were usually called by humans. Nonetheless knowing and actually acknowledging was a huge difference.

Thoughtfully Elrond considered what he had heard so far. He seriously had never heard of a situation like this before, which clearly said a lot, since he had fought and witnessed some battles and had seen and treated quite a lot of wounded during the long lifespan of his already.  

 So whatever it was, Haldir had always been more or less pessimistic so Elrond seriously worried what kind of effect the current situation might have on him.

 “Wouldn’t you prefer to rest before?” Aragorn asked just then, interrupting his musings.

“No, there will be opportunity for that later on. Let us have a look at Haldir, first,” Elrond contradicted.

 After only a short glance at his opponent Aragorn nodded in agreement. “So then,” he declared, gesturing for Elrond to follow once again.

 

**O**

 

_Haldir_  

The pale winter sun could not banish the shadows from his room. Much less was it able to reach the constantly expanding darkness within his very soul.

He was not ungrateful. In fact he definitely appreciated to be given a room like this. A room for himself. No other but a few Elves came to face him within that miserable condition of his in here.To be as helpless and dependant on others as he currently was, was bad enough for sure, he did not even remotely dare to imagine what it might have felt to be exposed at the Great Hall in a state as vulnerable and miserable as this. 

Over and over again he did relive those moments right before darkness had captured him. Those images he had assumed to be his last moments under the sun of Middle Earth had been blurred and shapeless like he surface of a river drowning beneath a downpour of rain. Nonetheless they appeared to be immerged to his very being – eternally.

He had fought other battles. He had come to witness Men, Elves an Orcs alike dying all around him before. He had already seen that curious mixture of wild surprise, disbelief and fear on their faces before, had come to witness before as their mimic turned blanc - their gazes rigid, fixed upon some far distant point within eternity.

Never before had he wondered about what they might see, though. Never did he wonder if even an Orc bore a soul deep within that foul, repugnant body of his. Would they possibly mourn their dead, just as Men and Elves used to do? Never before did he take the time to wonder about matters like these. It was so incredible easy to believe that just as they were ugly they had to be nothing but evil – bound to have no soul at all... But what if he had been wrong?

There was much he did not take time to wonder about during his long, ageless – and yet so terribly mortal existence…

They constantly urged him on to try, to participate and – speak.

But how could he possibly do that, when his very soul appeared to be lost somewhere in between existences? So many strange questions were troubling him at the time being - he just did not know whether he wanted to ever learn their answers.

That night of the battle, Aragorn had been there the moment he had fallen to his knees. He had supported his weight as he slipped away, trying to assist him within his distress. It had been all in vain.

Pain had been all around. He had felt it all: The rain on his face - the sword cut across his stomach - that dreadful axe in his back - the stench of blood and destruction all around…. His own finitude right in front of his eyes… Then everything had blurred – the battle cry all around – the rain and darkness as well as the multitude sensations of fear, pain and despair. Those of others as well as his very own – all of them blurring into one huge feel of agony and regret… He did fall into an abyss, deep and groundless... Groundlessness speeding his fall until there had not been a sound but the rushing of his pulse within his ears.

All pain did end. The sensation of rain on his face – the axe within his back – anything. Until the angle of said abyss had turned all of a sudden, swirling around him…

Until there was nothing but silence, weightlessness and calm – the black abyss turning into a tunnel leading into unfathomable blackness at both of its ends. Nothing but his very own heartbeat had filled said darkness until that did become more and more faint, arrhythmic and rare…

And then – there had been nothing but silence at all.

Silence stretching into eternity to both sides of that ominous tunnel. He could not tell how much time did pass. Could not tell what had happened. Finally, very faint and fragile there had been a glimpse of light at both ends – brightening – until he felt the urge to turn for the one or other, finally. To choose.

As soon as he actually did turn towards the left, the pounding of his heartbeat had filled his ears once more – just as well as the throbbing pain and all those other sensations had returned.

The next time he felt darkness capturing him it had been nothing but the merciful embrace of deep unconsciousness. When he woke he had been here. His head buzzing with countless questions the apparently was no answer to. Was it like this to choose as Elrond and his children could for reasons that did not suit him, he wondered. But how? Why? And if so – what did he choose, indeed?

If he had turned for the right instead would he still be here right now? More than once he had wondered about this. More than once did he muse about a possible sense or the lack of such within this curious situation, yet he did not have a clue. So; what did happen to him - and – why?

  

**O**

  _Morwen_

 The feeling of warmth, sheltering her in her uncomfortable position at the floor, even was the first sensation to come to her mind. Then, as she struggled to sit up, all those strange confusing sensations she had faced during Eothain’s healing came back, drifting in to her…

Eothain!

From one second to another Morwen was wide awake sitting up to glance at the boy beside her. She could not quite believe what she was seeing, though. There, resting atop his bed of straw – his cheeks no longer glowing with fever – his breathing calm and even, peacefully asleep was her son – Eothain, definitely alive! Tears of relief were blurring her vision as she stifled a gasp so not to disturb him.

She could not quite believe what had happened around here, indeed. After the recent weeks’ desperation, and hopelessness this was bordering to a miracle.

Of course she had heard about the special abilities and powers of those bearing Elven origin, but to know about or to actually witness such a thing was quite a difference... She was so glad… so entirely relieved and grateful…

“Don’t you worry, Mummy,” her daughter’s voice cut in through her musings.

It was only then she did realise that Freda was sitting atop her cot of straw, watching her. As soon as she laid eyes upon her, Morwen was stunned at the profound chance that her little girl had undergone these past few hours. She did not look intimidated or terrified any longer. In fact she appeared quite back to be her usual tomboyish self!

“Freda!” she gasped spreading her arms to hug her. An invitation the little girl followed – happily.

“Oh, Mummy!” she cheered, throwing herself at her that very instant.

Happily they hugged. “Are you quite alright, my Sweetheart?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Mummy,” the little girl reassured her over and over again. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry.”

During the next couple of minutes Morwen listened to her daughter’s straightforward, heartfelt explanations about what had happened in between. So she did manage to find those sons of the Lord Elrond after all. Twins they appeared to be. One of them called Elladan happened to be especially kind and insightful. His name was mentioned within every second sentence as it seemed.  

So even her daughter did benefit from this Elven stranger’s influence... Morwen definitely felt in dept. Bending over the sleeping form of her son, Morwen gently kissed his forehead – relief flouting over her like a downpour of rain one again.

She just had to express her thankfulness! 

**O**

 

As she reached the Great Hall Morwen did stop in her tracks, though. What had appeared to be a good plan back at her room turned out to be a tad more difficult now.  

While she spotted the Lord Elrond at the fireplace to her left, the company he kept was definitely intimidating. On of them was that Elven prince of Mirkwood. The other the Lord Aragorn, whom she did know, but who was rumoured to be the true heir of Gondor, still. There also was one auburn-haired, bearded Dwarf, whose voice was ringing as soundly as a horn. All of this would have been enough already. No such luck though, as there were no lesser than Theoden, King, as well as Eomer and the Lady Eowyn assembled around the heath.

For the brick of a second Morwen’s eyes flickered across two more Elven looking strangers resembling the Lord Elrond to a great amount. These must be the twins, Freda mentioned, she assumed.

Even as she felt the urge to express her gratitude and return that incredibly fine piece of cloths of that Elven cloak, Morwen definitely had issues. Therefore she lingered in that shadowy space where the hallway met the Great Hall, unsure of what to do. She did not deem it appropriate to approach these people. Therefore she started to back off; to recede into the shadowy hallway.

Before she could definitely do so, the Elven Lord turned to look her direction, though. He could not have noticed her presence. She had not made any noise, but merely stood out here in the dim lit hallway that’s torches were so much fainter than those around the Great Hall. So why did he notice? 

**O**

  _Elrond_

 Clearer than anything else around he felt a gaze in his back. It was the gaze of a person good-natured yet intimidated. Slowly and curiously he turned his head, only to face the shape of young Eothain’s mother within the shadowy hallway, looking at him.

After a quick apologise at his companions Elrond rose from his seat. Realising the widening of her eyes at his approach he tried to calm her the best he could. 

“Morwen,” he addressed her in a gesture of welcome. “What about your boy? Will you tell me?”  

Just like he had intended, the tense line between her eyes relaxed, if just slightly.

“He’s well enough I suppose,” she assured him, hurriedly. “He is resting at the moment, but I…” She trailed off taking in a deep breath, regaining her composure. “I came to thank you for everything you have done,” she declared, “If not for you…” she trailed off once more struggling to take a deep breath to steady herself.

 “There is no need to thank me,” he assured her hurriedly, feeling utterly uncomfortable at her words all of a sudden

 “Yes there is and that’s what I’m here for,” she began slightly more self-conscious now. “Thanks to you my son is peacefully asleep right now.”

 “That is a relief to hear, indeed,” he acknowledged. “Would you not like to take a seat by the fire and share our meal?” he then asked.

 He could literally sense her impulse of jumping back with utter shock, even though she remained calm at the outside. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “That’s not what I’m here for. I merely meant to thank you… and to return that cloak of yours that is…” With that she held out the caramel-coloured velvet cloth for him to take.

“You are welcome,” he stated with an air of confusion, taking the cloak from her hands. He clearly sensed she was about to leave any second now. “But – you have to be hungry. Please…” he encouraged her, gesturing towards the fire.

She hesitated once again and he noticed the great amount of discomfort and awkwardness radiating from her. “No, I guess I’d rather not do that,” she explained more calmly and content this time. “It’s not my place to be.”

After another moment of careful consideration, Elrond nodded in understanding. “As you wish,” he muttered, nodding thoughtfully.  

For the brick of a second their eyes locked and he felt a strange urge to do or say a thing that might cause her to stay around for another moment – anything, yet he knew it would be just awkward for the both of them. It was irrational and yet, it was an urge so utter strange and illogical he could not quite fathom it.

“So then. It will be best to have another look at Eothain before nightfall, I assume,” he heard himself declare before he even realised he was about to say it. “Come.”

Looking at her closely for the first time he contemplated her face in the torch lit hallway. The tears had dried. Her face was no more red and swollen, the eyes no longer tear dimmed and panic stricken, but shone with a warm chocolate brown instead. She was neither young nor exceptionally beautiful. She was exhausted; her cloths plain, torn and dirty, but she was…. She just was… She was… Strangely enough he could not tell…

He definitely could not name it, but there was something about her that caused him to give her a second look, a third even… wondering what she might think right that instant.

“Come,” he repeated, placing a gentle hand at her shoulder blade as they moved along. 

**O**

 

_Morwen_

Eothain was well indeed. Calm and relaxed he slept and she could not get remotely sated by the sight of it. One curious day this had been! She was definitely tired.

Therefore, not long after the Lord Elrond had left, Morwen tried to curl up next to her daughter’s sleeping form atop the sack of straw. It was cold and chilly and far from comfortable, but it would do.

Now that Eothain had a true chance of recovery anything would do!

When she had already started to doze off, there was a soft knock at the door all of a sudden. Little Freda did not even stir within her sleep. Morwen whatsoever struggled to get to her feet no matter how tired she was. But when she answered the door, there was no one to be seen how ever closely she glanced along the shadowy hallway.

She intended to shut the door again already, when her gaze fell on a pair of blankets at her feet. Utterly surprised she reached out to pick them up, finding them to be of valuable soft and thick woollen quality. Some strange form of crisp bread and a pair of red apples were resting atop of them.

  

**AN:** **Thank you again to all who are reading my story.**

It is quite short, still and the characters are only just beginning to introduce themselves within the setting I have planned out for them. I am really; truly glad you apparently like it so far!

Just in case you are wondering about this chapter’s title: I choose it in the style of one term called ‘TheUnkiss’, which is a nickname given to one book related scene about a possible kiss between Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane in the fascinating world of ‘Song of Ice and Fire’ by George R.R. Martin, which I definitely love as well.

Smiles, Serpentina


End file.
